


High

by ColorfulMadness (livingbard)



Series: Attack on (Winter) Olympics [3]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alcohol, Alpine Skiing, Amputee!Erwin, Angst, Armin's messed up, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mentions of drugs, Older!Armin, Olympics, Romance, Skiing, Sochii Winter Olympics, TW alcoholism, TW drug addiction, Winmin - Freeform, Winter Olympics, consent is cool yo, drugs and alcohol just go hand in hand, eventual love, everyone's at the age of consent, probable smut, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-06
Updated: 2014-02-02
Packaged: 2018-01-10 21:47:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1164915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/livingbard/pseuds/ColorfulMadness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is the story of Olympic skier Armin Arlet and his three addictions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	High

High

 

**Deep breath. Count to ten. Push off. _Fly._**

 

The first time he’d donned a pair of skis he was five. He took his first jump at eight, and he’d hardly let his feet touch the ground since.

 

 **Inhale. Head down. Elbows tighter. Exhale**.

 

The first time he’d gotten high he was fifteen and so nervous he’d puked twice out behind the high school’s dumpster. He doesn’t vomit anymore.

 

**Knees bent. Focus ahead. Tense muscles. _Jump._**

The first time he’d kissed Erwin he was eighteen, and so high he couldn’t tell which way was up or down.

 

**Lean forward. Brace body. Close eyes. Land.**

This is the story of Armin Arlet and his addictions.

 

 

* * *

 

Armin is two and it’s raining outside. There aren’t any screams, the house is tense and silent, and Armin’s head hurts. He starts to cry, and his mommy comes and picks him up. He snuggles into her warmth and doesn’t notice the wet drops falling onto his head as the front door closes, taking with it Armin’s father, a suitcase, and a ring that perfectly fit Armin’s mother’s finger.

 

* * *

 

Armin is five and confused. He’s in a daycare room with twelve other kids, watching a movie. One by one the other kids leave, until it’s nearly dark and the teacher’s making phone calls. When his grandfather comes to pick him up, Armin asks him one question.

 

“Did mommy go where daddy went?” His grandfather never answers and just holds him tightly whenever he asks.

 

 

* * *

 

Armin’s twelve and this time he knows exactly what’s going on. He stands in the terminal next to Hanji, Eren, and Mikasa, watching his grandfather gather his bags. He catches his eye and smiles, one last time. Armin fights to smile back, but this time he’s crying hard and he can’t stop.

 

* * *

 

 

One by one Armin’s family leaves him, and each time they take a piece of him when they do. Even when he can’t remember them.

  
He can’t remember the day his dad left and he barely remembers when his mom did, but he’ll never forget watching his grandfather board the plane.

 

Eren, Mikasa, Hanji. They are his family now. They are his family but they can’t ever replace or repair the pieces of him that have long been lost, there’s just a constant hole, a void in his chest, in his soul, that needs something, someone, anything, to fill it.

 

The first thing that does this is skiing.

 

Armin loves to ski. He's addicted to the adrenaline rush of racing down a hill, addicted to the queer, high sensation when he’d just launched a jump and, for a moment, hung suspended in the air- breaking gravity’s hold for just a moment before crashing back to Earth. This is what he lived for, what kept him going day after day in those awkward junior high years when he wore glasses and was mistaken for a pretty girl named Christa on a near-daily basis.

 

The middle school world was not kind to short girlish-looking boys with names like Armin Arlet who happened to excel at academics. He’d been shoved around lockers a few times, defiant in spite of his size.

 

“You’re just resorting to physical violence because you know I’m right.” He’d say as someone larger gripped his shirt and shoved him against a wall. Typically Eren or Mikasa would come to his aid, but as they all got older he grew tired of depending on his friends for everything. He needed to be able to care for himself without them. He needed to be someone they could depend on as well.

 

Armin didn’t hit a growth spurt, but grew gradually. As his height increased, so did his muscle mass and his upper body strength. That was a result of his coach, the legendary Erwin Smith. His name sounded unreal to Armin, and so close to his own, he felt a bond to the man the first day they'd met.  

* * *

**Faster. Faster. Keep it tight. Hold it. Jump...**

**Land.**

**  
**Armin slid over to the side after his run and drained a bottle of water Hanji handed him. He stepped out of his skiis and cared for them properly before storing them in their bag. Results wouldn't be up for a little while, and the mundane routine helped him deal with the adrenaline pumping in his system. It kept his hands busy while his mind was allowed to soar for just a little while longer, just a little while longer.

 

"Armin that was great! One of your best runs yet!" Hanji beamed at him, throwing towels and more sports drinks at him as he mechanically cleaned and stored his equipment. 

  
"It was okay, yeah." Armin smiled. Okay? It had been incredible! He'd never gotten such height off a jump before, his turns had been stop-on-a-dime tight, and he'd woven through the mougles with a grace that felt natural. Out loud, however, Armin was much more modest. Only in the confines of his mind did he dare to cheer and jump for metaphorical joy. 

"Okay? It was incredible!" And there was Eren, voicing his actual thoughts unknowingly. One of the many reasons Armin was so deeply fond of his best friend, his basically brother. "You got so high!" 

Mikasa nodded, and Armin smiled at her, too. "It was very good." She said in her monotone, and Armin took the compliment happily. Mikasa rarely said anything after his runs, so this much was on par with fireworks from a normal person.

"You guys are giving me too much credit." He said, pleased all the same. The less-nice part of his brain told him that yes, he deserved the praise and more because he, Armin, had just done something so spectacular they should erect a fifty-foot statue commemorating his amazing feat. The more practical part of his mind just shook its head at the thoughts and told himself to stop being such a conceited jackass.  _  
_

There was usually war in Armin's head.

A few minutes later, after he'd put up his skiis and poles and was chatting with his family, a shadow fell over him. Armin glanced up, squinting at the bright, snow-reflected sunlight around the figure. 

"Armin Arlet, right?" The voice was smooth, deep. It send a tremor running through Armin, and his eyes widened. He recognized the voice, and as his eyes adjusted he recognized the frame: tall, smooth blonde hair, muscular build, and one arm that ended at the elbow. Erwin Smith, famous Olympic skiier and 3-time gold medal champion until an accident claimed his arm nearly five years ago. He'd all but dropped off the map after that.

  
Armin processed all of this information in under two seconds. "Y-yes, that's me."

 

"I'd like to have a word with you, if you don't mind." That voice again, and Armin found himself nodding immediatly.

 

  
"Yeah, sure." He stood up and glanced back at his family, who smiled encouragingly. They were all involved in this Olympics business, they knew who he was.

 

  
Armin followed him to an empty table set up for spectators, and sat down across from him. "What can I help you with?" He asked politely, trying to ignore the nervous butterflies in his stomach. This was a Big Deal in Armin's world of skiing and athletics.

 

"I saw your run. It was excellent."

 

"T-thank you!" He gasped, wide-eyed and thrilled. From an expert this opinion held quite a lot of weight.

 

Erwin chuckled, a rich, full sound that rang symphonies in Armin's ears. "Don't thank me. I'm just stating fact. That's not the only reason I wanted to talk to you, though."

 

"Oh?" Armin sat there, wondering what on earth was happening.

 

"You don't have a formal coach, do you." This was a statement, and Armin was having an out-of-body experience. He shook his head faintly.

  
  
"No. Hanji helps me when she can." His eyes widened as he saw the direction of the conversation.

 

"I would like to be your coach, if you'd have me." His eyes were serious, and he studied Armin carefully, as if gauging his reaction. Armin swallowed hard, stood up, and bowed deeply.

 

"I am sorry! I couldn't possibly afford you as a coach!" He felt tears welling up in his eyes and cursed his weak heart. He was beginning to feel sick.

  
Erwin laughed, and Armin shot up like a bottle rocket. "Cost is not a problem. You're a prodigy, Armin. I'd be happy to train you. No fee."

 

Armin's jaw dropped and the tears threatened to fall once more. For once words failed him. "Thank you." He finally managed to whisper.

 

"Would that be okay with you?" Erwin cocked one amazing eyebrow up. Armin could only nod. 

 

They walked back over to Hanji, Eren, and Mikasa, where Erwin explained what was going on and Armin stood there and tried to process the past fifteen minutes. 

 

He doesn't remember what scores he got that day or if he even placed in the event. He only remembers the sun on Erwin's blonde hair and the intense focus of his eyes as he stared across the table.

 

A week later, he began working with and for Erwin. He served in the local lodge owned by Erwin near the ski slopes when he wasn't in school or training, to help pay Erwin back for his coaching. This was something Armin insisted on, and Erwin tried not to schedual him often- much to Armin's chagrin. It was then that he began physically training his body- running, sprinting, climbing hills and stairs, riding bikes, and weight lifting. Mix in strength training and flexibility work, and you had Armin’s routines down. Three years of this transformed him into someone who could have written a best-selling novel on “How To Do Puberty”.

 

It didn’t hurt that his face lost the innocent baby-chub and revealed hella fine cheekbones and a gorgeously angled chin, and his striking blue eyes absolutely  _burned_ when he was focused on something.

 

As time went on, Armin settled into his new routine- school, work, training. He was on track for the Olympics in the next year, his eighteenth birthday had gone off without a hitch, and for the first time in his life he felt like he may just turn out okay after all.

 

He had no freaking idea how absolutely wrong he was.

**Author's Note:**

> HOLLA it's Armin!
> 
> Winmin for my dearest friend, whom I would do anything for (including write winmin) 
> 
> I always thought that Armin would be the kid to get into serious drug/alcohol problems. My own personal head cannon, I suppose. Anyway, I'm just gonna run with this one.
> 
> I know this is short, but it's been difficult for me to find the words. I like it though.
> 
> Thanks for reading, kudos if you liked it and comments always make my day 900% more awesome.


End file.
